


You know me, I come back when you want me to.

by BubblyWashingMachine



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Depressed Vanya Hargreeves, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Vanya Hargreeves, I Am Sorry, I don't know why I keep writing stories about vanya being really sad, No Romance, Vanya Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Vanya Hargreeves-centric, Vanya and Five are best friends, and now: emotional devastation, anyway we had shot in the foot, stabbed in the hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyWashingMachine/pseuds/BubblyWashingMachine
Summary: Vanya is thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, twenty-one, twenty-six, twenty-nine years old, and she is patiently waiting. She's alone, and she's mourning, and she's miserable. But still, she waits.Here is what she imagines.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	You know me, I come back when you want me to.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh.... so I had this idea while in the car today, and then I came home and wrote it in like an hour, so I hope it's ok.  
> Title is from Miss Misery by Elliott Smith, maybe the most five and vanya song to exist ever. 
> 
> I guess I broke my 'I'm too much of a sucker to write hurt without comfort' thing I had going on! however I AM continuing my 'hurting vanya' theme adfgkgh. if you want a side of comfort with your angst please read my other TUA fics thank u
> 
> Sorry it's kind of bleak but apparently there's a market for fanfiction that leaves you with a kind of hollow feeling, so... enjoy! :)

Vanya is thirteen years old, sitting on the stairs patiently, quietly. It’s been one week, and here is what she imagines:

Number Five will come bursting into the dining room, just as explosively as he left it. He’ll be out of breath, eyes bright with exhilaration, brimming with the enormity of all the things he’s seen and done, things that Vanya knows he is practically buzzing with excitement to tell her all about as soon as possible.

His run will slow to a lazy walk while Father yells at him and demands answers, and he will ignore the lecture, instead turning to grin impishly at Vanya from across the room in that particular way of his. Yes, he’ll be in big trouble for leaving, but he’ll be home. Things will go back to normal, the way they’re supposed to be.

Around the table, Luther’s shoulders will finally relax in relief, and Diego will roll his eyes at the dramatics but hide a smile behind his hand. Ben won’t even bother to hide his, and his eyes will meet Vanya’s as if to say _thank goodness, you were right. He did come home._

_…_

Vanya is fifteen years old, standing at the kitchen counter in pyjamas, silent, unnoticed. It’s been two years, and here is what she imagines:

Number Five will enter the kitchen at night in a flash of blue light, stumbling, lost, and will spin around in confusion. Vanya will be there, alone, as always, and she will drop the knife she was holding – for peanut butter – and his face will light up in recognition.

He’ll laugh, and rush forward to hug her, and say that he’s sorry it took him so long to get back, but she just won’t _believe_ where he’s been. He’ll look sheepish, for a moment, but will reach around her to snatch up the sandwich and stuff it in his mouth, and Vanya won’t be able to stay mad at him. _Besides, don’t you want to see? To leave this stupid house, Seven?_

That’s why he came back, of course. To get her. To take her away with him, to show her the future.

She won’t need to answer, because he knows her too well, and she won’t even stop to pack her uniform or violin or say goodbye or, or anything, because Five will just grin at her with delight and grab her hand, tugging her forward into a splash of blue light, and then they will be gone.

…

Vanya is seventeen years old, trying to muffle her crying, face buried in her pillow.

It's been four years.

It’s been one day.

And here is what she imagines:

Number Five will come tumbling through a bright portal into her dark bedroom, and he will start talking. He’ll be smiling, waving his hands, saying _the future, Vanya, you won’t believe –_

Vanya, standing up in shock, will interrupt, not wanting to hear the rest of whatever he wants to say. She’ll shove him. She’ll thrash around, cry, and kick at his kneecaps. _Why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you stop it?_

His mouth will open in surprise, raising his hands, and she’ll scream. She’ll shove him again until he trips over backwards and lands on the ground, scrambling.

_You could have saved him – you should – where—_

He’ll start to get angry, defensive. His face will twist into that of someone she doesn’t recognise anymore, someone she doesn’t know, who doesn’t care. A stranger, now. He’ll snap, saying _what could I have done, anyway? It’s not important now. Time travel is more important that you, than_ Ben _. Than everything. I’ve always thought that. Why are you surprised?_

_Where were you? Why didn’t you stop this?_ Vanya will scream herself hoarse, scratching at him like a wild animal, howling, not caring if she wakes their siblings up. None of them will be sleeping anyway. None of them will ever be able to sleep again. _Where were you? Why don’t you_ care _?_

_I hate you! I HATE YOU!_

…

Vanya is twenty-one years old, daydreaming on the bus, invisible. It’s been eight years, and four years, all at once. Here is what she imagines:

She will be in a coffee shop, the one across from the music store, reading the newspaper but not really absorbing the words. She will be waiting for her coffee to cool down, already anticipating that the girl will have made it too bitter again, but already knowing she’ll drink it anyway and won’t complain. She will be thinking, abstractly, about writing a book.

A man will approach her table, an older man, and she will sink lower in her seat, filling up with dread. Vanya has been approached before, and she’ll pray that this won’t be like that time. _Maybe he’ll go away._

But the man will clear his throat politely, and she’ll glance up, and see a nervous kind of smile on his face. She’ll notice that he has green eyes surrounded by tired lines, a sharp jawline. That his hair is silver around the temples, and that he is wearing a neat grey suit and a tie with embroidery on it.

When she straightens and looks up properly from over the newspaper, a flash of familiarity sparking in the back of her mind, something will light up in his eyes, and his smile will widen - and he’ll say, _Vanya?_

_…_

Vanya is twenty-six years old, collapsed on her couch after a horrible phone call, maybe more than a little drunk. It’s been thirteen years, eight years, one year, twenty-six years of this, one after the other. Every day, she wakes up. And here is what she imagines:

Thirteen-year-old Number Five will come crashing through a portal, landing on her rug, He’ll be slightly dazed, excited, and so, so pale and little, exactly like she remembers. He’ll exclaim _Vanya! Is that_ you _? Holy shit – I just saw you a minute ago. I really time-travelled! What year is this? Where are the others?_

Vanya, bleary, won’t be able to answer the questions in time and he’ll just laugh, start poking around her stuff. She’ll say _wait, just hold on._ He can’t find the book. He can’t read it. She will try and draw his attention back to her, clumsily answering him despite the pounding in her head.

He won’t like her answers, and will become impatient. _Where is everyone? Where’s Ben?_

_Not here._ Vanya is alone, like she's supposed to be, tonight, tomorrow and every day. She’s successfully sliced and slashed and severed herself from every person in the world who would care if she was dead.

_Well, why not? What do you mean, they_ hate _you? That can’t be true, you’re just dramatic._

It’s true.

_Vanya, come on. What did you do?_

_Vanya, tell me!_

_Vanya, what have you done?_

_…_

Vanya is twenty-nine years old when blue lightning rages in the Hargreeves mansion courtyard, roaring, crackling violently, and spitting a blinding light that makes her shrink behind her siblings.

It’s been a long, long time.

And here is what she sees:


End file.
